In my mind, I prepared endlessly. I would make punch (punch! What a great name, no?)... I would bake homemade treats, I would prepare dips from scratch, using local ingredients and reveal how a house concert hostess could truly set the bar. "Yes, please help yourself to what I call my 'Pulse Crop Dip'. You may note a hint of wild chamomile. Not an accident! I gathered it myself from a nearby ditch and dried it for this very occasion!"
Reality saw me driving a shopping cart with undue care and attention down the aisles of Costco, erratically grabbing industrial-sized containers of Godknowswhat, made in Godknowswhere because let's face it, I couldn't possibly have my Act Together for this shindig. We still had to clean the Godforsaken basement!! The thought of cleaning the basement makes me want to fold myself in half and throw down a hissy, much like a toddler who does not want to take a nap. Were it not for the help of my girlfriend, Lorie, we would have probably been vaccuuming around people as they were getting seated for the concert...'Scuze me...pardon me...watch your wine glass...'
I'm not sure why basements exist. I hate them. Why not go up in the air instead of under the ground when building a house? Up in the air just seems to have more light and...air. I suppose basements are good for a couple reasons. They are a good place to store things, such as your teenagers, for example. Studies have shown that teenagers, when stored properly, can emerge from the basement in their early 20s as fully formed humans. They slowly become aware of their surroundings and begin to learn new skills, such as how to pick up a wet towel off the floor, and how to avoid licking the knife before putting it back in the peanut butter jar.
The basement is also a great place for those boxes I've labelled, "Can't Display It; Can't Throw it Away". Do you have boxes of such delights? My Ice Carnival 3rd Princess trophy, and my husband's IGA 1988 Beef Roundup plaque, for example. Can't seem to part with those! And of course I cannot throw out my album of wedding candids. I can't bring myself to look at it either, as it is a grim and painful reminder of what I forced my poor, trusting bridesmaids to wear. I'm convinced they now believe Hell is a place slipcovered in magenta taffeta.
They say basements are also good places to hang out in the event of a tornado. That tells you something right there, correct? Only in anticipation of an impending natural disaster should you descend into the basement. Growing up, the basement was a dark, windowless place where the ghosts and monsters hung out. It was the most scary-ass place I could think of. I'd rather have taken a 3 a.m. stroll down Elm Street than go and get a jar of pickled beets from the cold room. In addition, basements are a place where people gather to watch televised sports. I also hate sports, televised or otherwise, but that will be another story altogether.
Alas, I should be very grateful for our basement. In our house, the basement is the place we can seat a ton of people and still have room for a live 4 piece band to blow us away, which is exactly what happened on Thursday night. If you were there, you know what I'm talking about. If you need information on supporting live music and hosting a house concert of your own, leave me a comment and I'd be glad to help. If not, for Godsakes leave me a comment anyway!!
|http://www.ohmydarling.ca/home Rosalyn - Fiddle, Vanessa - Guitar, Marie-Josee - Bass, Allison - Banjo|